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.”I wrinkled my face.Ranger Rick again.One of these days Rick Townsend would go too far and I wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences.“I lead a very satisfying social life, contrary to what my brother and his absurd friend say.”“Yeah, right,” the smirking customer service clerk responded.“And I have Jennifer Lopez waiting for me at home wearin’ nothing but my Old Navy T-shirt and a smile.”“More like George Lopez,” I muttered.“Say, don’t you have refunds to quibble over? Customers to service? Something?” I headed to the employee area and grabbed my red Bargain City vest and prepared to begin a shift already guaranteed to last longer than an Academy Awards show.Or a pair of shoes you hate.Two hours into my shift, I was cursing my cutesy new footwear.Running shoes would have been a much better choice, white ones with red shoestrings and bright red oblique stripes down the sides.I jogged from the electronics section to the sporting goods section like a shopper during the four hour only sale on the morning after Thanksgiving.By the time ten-thirty rolled around, my tail was dragging lower than the rusty tailpipe on my Plymouth.“I should get double pay for working two counters,” I pointed out to the assistant night manager as I prepared to leave.“As I recall, we never docked you for that snack cake display incident,” he had the gall to remind me.“And I still say that was a stupid place to put a giant creme-filled sponge cake,” I argued.“Hit the road, Turner.You’re scheduled back at eight A.M.tomorrow, aren’t you?”I nodded, bummed by the thought that I would go home and fall into bed, only to awaken and return to the exciting world of Bargain City at first light.“At least you’ll have a free Saturday night to enjoy your satisfying social life,” Mr.Customer Service interjected, pulling off his vest as he prepared to end his shift.“Oh? You get fired from the Dairee Freeze, Turner?” the night manager asked.“No, I didn’t get fired from the Dairee Freeze,” I responded.“Her uncle owns the joint,” Customer Service explained.I glared at them both.“See if I throw in any extra toppings on your next Dairee Freeze visit, gentlemen.” I stomped to the exit before it dawned on me that I’d neglected to remove my own Bargain City vest.The heck with it.I’d taken enough abuse for one night.My feet were killing me, and my ears were still ringing with: Customer assistance in sporting goods.Customer assistance in electronics.I closed my eyes against the throbbing of my temples.First thing when I got home, I was going to pop a couple of headache tablets, wash ‘em down with a light beer (or two), and fall into bed.I sighed.The only male companions I had waiting at home for me were two hairy gents badly in need of new flea and tick collars, toenail clippers, and some tartar-control mouthwash.I plodded to my car near the back of the darkened lot.I opened the door, jumped in, and winced when the maracas joined the drumbeat in my head.I turned the key and prayed.Yes! Whitie started without a whimper, sputter, cough, or belch.I eased out of the parking space, hit the headlights, and headed out of town.We live around seven miles from Grandville, the county seat, on a curvy, dead-end gravel road off an old county blacktop.Once I left the lights of town and turned onto County Road G-14, I glanced down to check my speed.Sometimes I get a little heavy on the accelerator.The dashboard was dark as my mood.What now? I tapped the dash with a knuckle.Nothing.I checked to make sure I still had working headlights.I fumbled around in the dark and finally found the radio, then pulled a face when a voice boomed out of the speakers discussing campaign finance and soft money.As opposed to hard, I suppose.Hey, as if it really makes a difference to politicians what their campaign money feels like, as long as it’s green and negotiable.I punched the buttons to switch the radio to one of my country channels.Instead, a noisy rap erupted, followed by an investment chit-chat (like I want to hear how well others are doing) and finally, golden oldies from my parents’ heydays.I hit all the buttons again.Where was She Daisy? Tim and Faith? Shania?I twisted the dial.Probably the same snafu that robbed me of dash lights had erased all my radio station settings.I finally located my favorite station broadcasting the top-of-the-hour weather forecast.A chance of thunderstorms Saturday afternoon and evening.Figured.The last time I had a weekend night off, gas was below two bucks a gallon and the only Hilton that mattered had room service and pay-per-view.I hummed along with the radio, keeping time on the steering wheel with my fingers, when I became aware of a thumping very much out of sync with the music [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]